Love Like a Tempest, Love Like a Hurricane
by Aleia15
Summary: A series of random encounters between two strangers. Kakashi/Iruka


**Love Like a Tempest, Love Like a Hurricane**

**1. **

Iruka is 14 years old and has just killed a man.

He knows this is not something worth noticing, a date not worth marking down a calendar for late perusal and remembering. He's a shinobi, a chuunin. He does what it takes to complete his mission alive, with his full team intact, and protect Konoha.

He can't help doing both things, though. He's just 14 and he has killed a man.

It's not the same, he realizes, practicing his aim with trees and inanimate targets. It's not the same, not by a long shot, driving a shuriken through a straw man's throat with pinpoint accuracy and being praised for his good aim, than doing so through a living breathing man, feeling his warm and sticky blood falling on his hands.

No amount of dismembered straw men can prepare him for what he's done.

He knows better than let his emotions show in front of his team though, they would never understand. Not his sensei, who praised him for his cool head and good judgement disabling the threat; not his team mates, who looked at him in awe for being the first one to draw blood in his group.

He could do without both feelings, and that's the reason he's currently where he is.

Every hidden ninja village has a joint like Haven. A place where shinobi can go to unwind and try to regain some sort of balance after difficult missions. In Haven everyone is welcome, as long as they _need_ to be there, no questions asked.

Iruka never believed he would be one to set foot into that place, joking with his team mates about the nut cases who went there. Now he knows better.

Anywhere else they would have not served him the alcohol nor allowed him the privacy he wanted. In Haven they know that if Iruka is old enough to need it, he probably is old enough to have it.

There are other patrons in the bar, all of them nursing their drinks and their wounds, blurred faces hidden in the shadows, drinking alone or maybe in pairs. There is no laugher or joy in the air, no big groups of merry people having fun, and the air is thick with grief and unspoken things.

Iruka hates the place.

He orders another drink when he's finished.

Not far from where he is another boy is drinking. Iruka would have not noticed him, except he is the closest one to Iruka's age and his only uncovered eye looks way older. He's also alone, not looking up from his glass and not paying any attention to his surroundings.

Iruka sighs and looks at his hands, surprised to notice they are not red, not dripping with warm blood. They don't look like the hands of a killer, and he thinks this is somehow wrong.

He looks up again and finds that old eye staring at him with curiosity. The man--boy, really--tilts his head in a surprisingly endearing manner and smiles at him, his masked face making it difficult to discern the expression.

"You're new here," he says approaching Iruka.

He's feeling pleasantly blurry thanks to the alcohol or he would have said something to drive the boy away, Iruka is not there for the conversation. As things are, he just nods and signals for another refill.

They sit side by side for a while, not looking and not really talking to each other; his presence, however, seems to be doing some good to Iruka. It's more the fact that someone like him is there, sharing the poisonous air filled with guilt and grief, that makes Iruka feel normal.

He catches himself staring at his hands again, looking at them as if they are something alien instead of a part of his body. The boy follows his look and nods in understanding.

"They're clean," he says, as if he can read Iruka's mind. He probably can.

"Are they?" Iruka hears himself breathing, barely audible.

"Yes, they are," the boy reassures him, taking Iruka's hands between his.

The contact makes Iruka startle for a second and he wonders if he should just pull his hands away and leave the place, but he can't. It's the first person who has touched him with such gentleness, his hands warm and careful around Iruka's, showing him they are not stained. He is not stained.

Iruka is pathetically grateful for the contact.

"It gets easier," the boy says, his voice soft and low and full of confidence, his hands squeezing Iruka's slightly. "You might not believe it now, but it gets easier when it's your life or theirs, your loved ones or them."

Iruka studies the little he can see of the boy's face, nodding in acknowledgement. He knows he's right, that's the reason he needed a drink.

"And if it doesn't?" he finally asks, afraid of the answer.

It's a question he would never dream asking in front of his friends or his sensei, but here, in the dim light of Haven, with his hands between this boys', he finds the courage to let the words spill from his lips.

He doesn't want it to get easier.

"Then that would mean you're a better person than I am."

…

**2. **

Iruka is 16 and has just buried a friend.

Death is a constant companion for a shinobi, hounding his steps every mission and trying to ambush him at any given time. That doesn't make it easier to bear when the one being buried is young, and talented and so dearly loved.

He's in Haven again tonight, drinking for Akito and remembering every one of his smiles, and jokes, and kisses. Sweet Akito with the large brown eyes and smiling mouth. Daring, reckless Akito with the gaping throat and the glassy eyes.

Iruka swallows his tears with a gulp of sake and sighs.

Damned foolish Akito, dying before Iruka could say yes to his embarrassing proposal.

Haven hasn't changed since the last time Iruka was there, not that he expected it to. He has been there only a couple of times since that first one, not acknowledging even to himself he was always looking for the masked boy. Every single time he's been there has been after a kill, and even without the boy's presence Iruka remembers his words and takes comfort from them.

This time is different, though. This time there is no comfort to be had.

"Has is gotten easier?" A deep voice asks at Iruka's right, and he startles and turns, hand going to his weapons pocket on its own.

He turns and looks at the man standing next to him, and releases his grip on his kunai. He's grown in the last couple of years; nobody will ever think he's a boy again.

"No," Iruka answers truthfully, looking down at the bar again. "It hasn't."

He expects mockery or some kind of disappointment, like that time he told his friend Mizuki and was called a wimp. Instead the man smiles and nods, taking the sit next to Iruka. "Good."

Again they sit in comfortable silence, like two old friends who don't need words to communicate anymore. Iruka would find it strange if his mind wasn't drowning in grief. He makes a silent toast for Akito, emptying his glass and ordering more.

"Not a kill then," the man says, reading Iruka again like an open book, "but a funeral."

Iruka is glad of the man's presence next to him, glad to know that this stranger understands him and shares part of his burden, but he wants more of him. Tonight he needs more than kind words and companionable silences.

He didn't know, the first time he went, what other kind of comfort people sought in Haven. He was a kid after all.

He knows now.

He takes the man's hand and looks at him, sake and pain giving him courage he didn't have before, he didn't have for Akito. The man turns to look at him and tilts his head considering in that same endearing gesture Iruka remembers so well. Whatever he is looking for in Iruka's eyes, he seems satisfied he has found it after a few seconds.

The man signals to the bartender and a key is almost immediately tossed to him. Iruka feels a shiver running down his spine at his own daring: he's about to go upstairs with a man whose name he doesn't know and whose face he has never seen.

"Are you sure?" the man asks before opening the door, giving Iruka an out.

He is.

There is no awkwardness once they are inside, just heat and friction and escalating desire. The man--Iruka has not asked his name and he doesn't think he will--has removed most of his clothes but not his mask, which Iruka thinks it's weird but doesn't comment on it.

They are touching and rubbing against each other, soft moans falling from half-open mouths, Iruka's back against the bed. They are not kissing, though, and Iruka is glad for it. He still has Akito's taste in his mouth; he wants to keep it for a long as he can.

He can feel the pleasure pooling in his lower belly while the man rubs against his body, his breath hot on Iruka's neck, his hands strong and hard and yet so gentle. He touches every inch of the hard body he can reach, pinching a nipple, tracing a scar, scraping his short blunt nails down the man's spine while a calloused hand wraps around their erections.

His mind goes blank, filled with white noise and the rapid thump of his heart against his ribcage, his eyes watering for some strange reason. Then he's there, the white light filling his mind and his numbness and grief spilling out of him, mingling with his release between their bodies.

Iruka hears his panting breath turning into sobs and feels embarrassed for a second. Shinobi don't need emotions like those, they are a liability and he's sure he's going to be scolded for them.

The man's warm hand settles on his shoulder, his thumb tracing circles on his neck. And there is silence and comfort.

When they come back down Iruka feels like a different person; it can't have been more than half an hour since they went up, but for him it was a lifetime ago.

They say goodbye outside Haven, the man depositing a soft kiss on the top of his head, his hand squeezing Iruka's shoulder. He realizes they have not spoken more than a handful of words and still, so much has transpired between them.

It doesn't matter. With a last look at the man, Iruka smiles his first real smile since Akito's death and goes home.

…

**3. **

Iruka is 17 and he's dying.

He knows this with a kind of detached certainty, and he is surprised that's the only feeling he has. He expected something else when the time came: panic, fear, something which showed he had an attachment to life. There is nothing, and that, probably, is the most surprising thing.

It's been a cock up of a mission since the beginning, and Iruka guesses he should be glad that they have not failed completely. The cost has been high, but they have completed the mission.

He wonders if Mizuki will reach Konoha on time for it to make a difference. Probably not. He wonders if anyone will cry for him at his funeral or if all the tears will fall for his Sensei and Yoshi, both dead not so far away from him.

He wonders if it matters.

Dying hurts, but not so much as he always believed it would. It's not a tearing pain nor a low burn, it's more like a slow ache engulfing his body, like a dull toothache which never goes away. It's not difficult to think around it, and if he had not drained his chakra so thoroughly disposing of the last assassin following them, Iruka thinks he might even be able to move.

Sighing, he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the forest, trying to catch some sign of help coming.

"Iruka!"

He opens his eyes startled to find an ANBU kneeling down in front of him, face covered by a fox porcelain mask, hands hovering over Iruka's shoulders as if trying to decide whether to shake him awake or not. Iruka blinks slowly, there is something familiar about the voice and the figure in front of him but he is too tired to think about what.

"Hang in there, Iruka, the medic is on the way," the ANBU says and Iruka nods tiredly, his eyes slipping close again of their own accord. "No, don't close your eyes. Look at me, talk to me."

He opens his eyes again with a huge effort. It shouldn't be this difficult, the crushing weight on his chest making breathing a draining chore, the simple fact of keeping his eyes open and focused draining him more than a training session.

"How--" he starts, the words coming out strained and barely audible. He tries again. "Mizuki--"

"Your team mate is fine," the ANBU says, his hand moving to rest over Iruka's stomach. "He found me on the way to the village and I came here to see if I could help until the medic arrives."

Iruka feels a slight warmth spreading from the ANBU's hand into his body, and his brain is still functioning enough to realize the guy is keeping him alive, pushing energy into his body and mending his worst injuries in a crude but effective way. It won't be enough to save his life, but it might just give him the time to wait for the medic.

He can feel the strength returning slowly to him and he can take in a few more details of his rescuer. The ANBU is tall and lean, his mask covering completely his face the way they are supposed to, but unable to completely cover his hair. Iruka knows he's seen and touched that hair before, the same way he knows the hands touching him now have been in closer contact with his skin.

Of all the places to meet his anonymous friend again, bleeding to death on the forest ground never made it to the list.

"You--" he says, his lips curling into a slight smile, his hands moving to reach for him.

"Yes, me," the ANBU says, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. "Now stay still, this is difficult as it is and I'd rather not let you die here before the medic arrives."

Iruka nods once, relaxing back and letting his eyes close now he knows his friend his there to take care of everything. An ANBU, well, that explains why he has not seen him at all outside Haven; and he has been looking for him, Iruka knows now, unconsciously searching his lank figure in the crowds, not satisfied anymore with the couple of times they've seen each other since the day of Akito's funeral.

He feels himself drifting into sleep, the warmth spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body, the pain fading to mere discomfiture. He hears, in the distance, the sounds of footsteps rushing towards them, Muzuki's cries of his name.

Everything is fine, his ANBU is there and nothing bad is going to happen to him.

"I'll be in Haven after the funeral," the ANBU says, a whisper caressing Iruka's face and making his tired body shudder.

The next second the medic is there and the ANBU is gone, but it doesn't matter, not anymore. Iruka knows where to find him.

…

**4. **

Iruka is 19 and he's in love for the first time.

It shouldn't come as much of a surprise as it does considering his current position, flat on his back with his ANBU's mouth wrapped around his cock and his ANBU's fingers slowly breaching him.

He is surprised, though.

He is surprised because he has just realized he's very much in love with a stranger, a stranger he's known for five years and bedded for the past three, but a stranger nonetheless. He is surprised because he always assumed love would be different.

In Iruka's mind love was a tempest, a hurricane. It was a force like a natural disaster, a flood sweeping every other feeling from his body and leaving nothing but passion in its wake. It had been like that with Iruka's parents, for what little he knew and remembered. Instead love has crept to him unawares, a slow tide growing and growing until Iruka found himself neck deep in it and with no way out.

Not that he wants an out, there's no place Iruka'd rather be than here, warmth, heat and that delightful mouth making him gasp in pleasure.

"Iruka," his ANBU says bringing his attention back to the present and positioning himself on top of him.

"Please," Iruka hears himself saying, his hands coming up to encircle the other's neck and pull him down for a kiss.

That's the only thing Iruka doesn't like, but he'll bear with it anyway. He doesn't like cloth covered kisses, nor he really likes full kisses in the most complete darkness, but it has to be one of the other.

He's getting used to the blindness.

He gasps into the mouth, trying to relax his body and allow the intrusion, relishing the burning feeling of his lover entering him. "Please," he repeats, not sure of what he's asking for anymore.

He wants this, he wants it very much, but there is a part of him screaming that it's not everything he wants. He doesn't want darkness, he doesn't want not knowing. He wants everything love was supposed to be.

But he'll settle for what he can get.

Iruka arches up and kisses back with passion, pushing up with each thrust trying to get more; more depth, more friction, just more.

"Iruka," the other breathes against his mouth, thrusting into Iruka faster and faster, his body taut with tension and need under Iruka's hands.

They rush to completion in the darkness, breaths shared between their mouths, bodies trying to merge into each other, and they're finally there, letting go, the pleasure fierce and sharp and blinding.

The only spot of light in that blackness.

Afterwards Iruka stares blindly at the ceiling, his heart finally slowing down, his ANBU's breath regular telling Iruka he must be asleep.

He tries not to want, but he can't help it, this is the nature of love and now he is aware of it, Iruka wants everything.

"I wish you'd let me see your face," he whispers in the darkness, still not brave enough to request it when it can be denied.

There is an answer, though he wasn't expecting any, and he startles at the sound of the low voice, thick with sleep and amusement.

"Shouldn't you learn my name first, Iruka?"

…

**5. **

Iruka is 20 and he finally has the upper hand.

"Do I get to see your face now, Hatake-san?"

He's been sitting on the knowledge of his lover's name for a fortnight, going back to Haven more frequently than in the past few years in the hopes of catching him there. Now he finally is there, and Iruka can see the smile on his face even beneath the mask.

"You found out," Kakashi says, and there is a world of difference in being able to put a name to him. Especially _that_ name.

Iruka almost couldn't believe his ears when Muzuki's words made the last piece of the puzzle fall into place.

_That damned Hatake Kakashi! He's failed my genins again, the one-eyed bastard. He thinks he's so cool, with his mask and his Sharingan--_

Iruka hadn't heard anymore, his mouth curling in a startled smile. Hatake Kakashi, it all fit.

And he finally had the name.

"I did," Iruka confirms, taking a step forward and raising his hand to Kakashi's face. He can feel the minute tensing of the slender frame at the movement, and lets his hand fall to his side again.

He wants to see the face beneath the mask, but it's not something he can take, even if Kakashi would let him do it.

It has to be given to him.

They stare at each other in silence for a while, the air thick with tension and then Kakashi rolls his eye and lets out a chuckle. "Fuck it!" He pulls down his mask himself, his hand betraying only a faint hesitation before doing it.

Iruka doesn't gasp or act startled at the sight. He drinks it in, aware of the privilege that is being allowed to see it. Kakashi is handsome, almost beautiful, with sharp features and full lips. There is a scar marring on of his cheeks, but apart from that his face is flawless.

He takes a step forward, his eyes fixed on those lips, and captures them with his, relishing in the feeling of being able to kiss them and look at Kakashi's eye at the same time.

"Took you longer than I though," Kakashi says pulling away, a slight smile grazing his mouth.

It has, that's the truth. It's been close to eight months since Iruka made his mission to find the other's name, and it wasn't until then he realized what a pain in the ass was getting information out of shinobi.

"You try to find out an ANBU's identity without ending up as Ibiki's guest," Iruka replies tartly, enjoying the face he can read the expressions on Kakashi's face now, "and see how quick you can do it."

Kakashi laughs, eye crinkling and full of mirth, before he leans down again to brush his lips against Iruka.

"You could have asked _me_."

…

**6. **

Iruka is 22 and has never felt so furious in his life.

He can't believe what he's seeing, though he knows he shouldn't be surprised at all. They never made any promises, they never talked about feelings, but somehow Iruka expected their feelings to be mutual.

Now he knows better.

He looks from the end of the corridor as Kakashi comes out of the room, _their room_, with another person next to him. Iruka knows who this is: Anko, one of the jounins he recognizes from the mission desk. She's recently returned pretty screwed up from a mission, which is probably the reason she's there.

Haven is the place where screwed up shinobi go to regain their balance, to get their comfort. For some reason Iruka has forgotten this and now that fact is being rubbed in his face.

It hurts to realize the truth in such a way.

Kakashi looks in his direction--glares more like it--and goes away with her without even acknowledging Iruka's presence there.

He still goes into the room, closing the door after him and sitting on the bed, calling himself a fool for doing so. Kakashi is not going to come back; he's already done his good deed for the day.

But he does, startling Iruka out of his dark thoughts not ten minutes later.

"I didn't know you were into that, Kakashi," he says coldly the moment the door closes, Kakashi's hand stopping pulling the mask down.

There is a moment of silence, enough for Iruka to regret letting his mouth override his brain. The mood in the rooms shifts slightly, the air frozen and the shadows darkening. It suits Iruka perfectly right now.

"Into what, pray tell, Iruka-sensei?" Kakashi's voice is cold and hard, and his eye is regarding him with distaste, as if seeing him for the first time.

Iruka doesn't answer, anger and hurt clogging his throat. He shrugs. "Is Anko feeling better now?" he says instead.

"Yes, she is."

"Her last mission was pretty bad, I heard," Iruka continues, knowing he's breaking some kind of unspoken rule of Haven. People don't talk about what happens there or about what made them go there in the first place, but his mind is not functioning right and he can't help himself.

_So much for love_, he tells himself, _pity, that's the only thing you get here._ He has wondered before why their encounters were restricted to Haven, now he knows.

"That it was," Kakashi says frigidly, "not that it is any business of yours."

"I expect she is feeling better now," Iruka continues heedless of the very dangerous way Kakashi is staring at him. "You are very good at what you do."

He shouldn't have said that, Iruka realizes the moment the words leave his lips, but there is not taking them back.

"Yes, I am a genius after all," Kakashi says, his voice like nothing Iruka has heard before. He has a second to be afraid, very afraid of Kakashi and then he is being pushed against the wall, Kakashi an unmovable object trapping him there. "You are here, so you must need the same from me."

Iruka wants to say no, it's not the same what he wants, but his mouth is immediately covered by Kakashi's still masked one, the taste of cloth in his tongue disgusting and overly familiar. He had hoped never to have it again.

He doesn't struggle or try to stop Kakashi after that, using the rough way in which is body is being treated to bring home the reality of the situation. He overstepped his bounds presuming there was more to the relationship to what it was, and he's messed up bringing his jealousy into it.

He wanted the tempest, now he has it.

When he's finished, Kakashi moves away, staring at him from behind his mask with a cruel smile. "Do you feel better now, Iruka-sensei?" Kakashi asks mockingly. "Or do you need something else from me?"

"No, I don't," Iruka manages, his voice a pained whisper. Kakashi has been very thorough; leaving no doubt this was a punishment. "I don't think I will again, Hatake-san. Thank you for all your care, now I'm completely over it."

He thinks he sees something like regret and guilt in Kakashi's eye for a second, but it might have been just wistful thinking.

When he leaves he swears it's the last time he sets foot in Haven.

…

**7.**

Iruka is 23 and has never felt so alone.

He's avoided Haven for a long time, but he's finally there again, staring morosely at his empty glass. He doesn't feel like drinking. He doesn't feel like doing anything at all, really.

He hasn't since he was released from the hospital.

Mizuki's betrayal, so close after Kakashi's, has finally broken his resolve of never stepping into that place again.

He wonders why he's there; he promised himself to never return to Haven, but there he is now, exposing himself to the same thing which made him go away in the first place.

Some of the regulars pass by him, patting him lightly in the back and exchanging few words. Platitudes, they know what Iruka needs comforting from, they also know it's not them he wants.

Iruka isn't sure _he_ will come tonight. What happened to Iruka is public knowledge, and everyone with half a brain can guess where Iruka will be headed straight after the hospital. That doesn't mean Kakashi will go to comfort him, not after the way things ended between them the last time.

He feels, more than sees, the moment Kakashi arrives.

"How are you feeling Iruka?" Kakashi says taking the seat recently vacated next to Iruka.

"Like my best friend just stabbed me in the back," he replies sincerely.

Kakashi nods and signals for a key, his look questioning. Iruka finishes his drink and snatches the key before Kakashi can take it. It's a different one and he hands it back to the waiter. "Not this one," he hears himself saying. "Ours."

He doesn't care anymore, he doesn't mind if it's not love. He needs Kakashi to make him forget, even if for just a few hours.

They go up the stairs in silence, the mood heavy with unspoken things and broken dreams.

They take their clothes unhurriedly, almost shyly once they are inside, and Iruka holds his breath when Kakashi stops to look at him, completely naked, and then takes the mask off almost like an afterthought.

Iruka heaves a sigh of relief.

It's slow and gentle from there, nothing like what Iruka remembers of their last, terrible time. _Then_ it was punishment for Iruka's insolence, now it's all about comfort, and making him feel cherished and _loved_ by someone.

Even if it's just an illusion.

He drinks in all the caresses and the way Kakashi kiss his body, ghosting touches over his chest and face, preparing him slowly to avoid causing any discomfort. It seems to take forever, but Kakashi is finally there, pushing inside of him with excruciating slowness, muttering sweet nothings in Iruka's ear. Iruka doesn't hear anyway, he's mindless with pleasure and need, body taut and so very ready. They are rocking together slowly, the build up like a tide, taking them closer to completion an inch at a time, Iruka clinging fiercely to the body on top of him, repeating his name like a mantra.

They stay together, entwined on the bed, after is over.

"Iruka, I--" Kakashi starts when they finally catch their breath again; Iruka turns to look at him. Kakashi's face is unexpectedly open and he's regarding Iruka with such gentleness it's making his heart break. "I--"

He never finishes what he's going to say, Iruka takes a breath and completely breaks down, the past events crashing down on him and crushing him in a wave of sadness and despair.

He sobs helplessly, hating himself for losing control in front of Kakashi again but completely unable to stop it. It's just too much. Kakashi hugs him tighter, letting his ride the worst of his pain without talking, his presence comforting enough.

Iruka knows then he might never get everything he wants, but for now he'll take what he can get. Even if it's just pity, it will have to do.

For now, it's enough.

…

**8. **

Iruka is 24 and he's had enough.

It's not about the fight they had, the very public and embarrassing fight they had that morning, though it was exactly that which has given Iruka de courage to do this.

He can't be selfless anymore. He wants it all or he'll have nothing.

"I knew I'd find you here," Kakashi says entering the room, _their room_ in Haven.

"Yes," Iruka says shortly, staring intently at Kakashi. They've developed a way of learning each other's mood through the years, and the fact that Kakashi has not removed his mask the second the door was closed tells Iruka everything he needs to ask.

Kakashi is still angry.

"You always come here when you're upset," Kakashi says leaning against the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I know."

"I'm not backing down, Iruka," Kakashi says and his tone is final. "They're ready."

"I know," he repeats, and he can see Kakashi relaxing finally. "It's not that what I'm upset about."

It was in the morning but he's had the time to think about it since then. Kakashi might seem lazy and relaxed and too much of a bully to be a good teacher, but Iruka knows better than anyone that's just a façade.

"I lost control this morning, I should have trusted your judgement better," he says in a low voice, his eyes fixed on Kakashi's. "It's difficult to let go of them and trust someone else, but I shouldn't have challenged your authority like that before everyone in the village. That humiliation I brought upon myself. That's what upsets me, that loss of control."

Kakashi is silent, a slight nod his only response.

"But that's made me realize something," Iruka continues. "I can't do this anymore."

_That_ gets a response for the other man.

"What do you mean you can't do this anymore?" Kakashi asks, his voice harsh. "What is _this_?

"This," Iruka moves his hands encompassing the whole room, "I won't be coming to Haven again. I hate this place, I hate this room."

"You do?"

"Yes. This is a place of desperation, a sad and sorrowful place for mourning. I don't need to come anymore. I haven't for a long time."

And that's the truth. He still goes to Haven so frequently he knows everyone of the regulars and they know him. Most of the times he offers comfort instead of receiving it while he waits. Sometimes he waits for nothing, and he hates that he has no control over it.

Kakashi narrows his eye, a hard look in them, and pushes off the door advancing toward Iruka. "But you're here."

"I am," he says wearily, "and if you don't know the reason then this conversation has no point."

"I might be a genius, Iruka," Kakashi says slowly, danger dripping of every word, "but I still can't read minds. Why do you come here if you hate it?"

"Why?" Iruka asks incredulously, "Are you being deliberately obtuse, Kakashi? How can I see you if not here?"

"We live in the same village, you can see me outside. You _do_ see me outside."

Iruka throws his hands heavenwards in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "No I can't. Outside there is Sharingan Kakashi, the Copy-Nin. And yes, I can see him, if I ever wanted to. You know that's not what I mean."

"Explain it to me then," Kakashi says slowly, as if talking to a moron.

He takes a deep breath to calm down. If he's going to do it he needs to keep his wits about him and not let Kakashi goad him into losing his temper.

All or nothing.

"We've been doing this for ten years, I can't do it anymore. I'm sick of playing this game where I break and you comfort me. I'm not that weak and you must know it by now."

He can see the moment the tension leaves Kakashi, the meaning of his words reaching him.

"Iruka," Kakashi begins and Iruka shakes his head, interrupting him.

"No, take that bloody mask off first."

There is a moment of silence, heavy with possibilities. Which way things will go, Iruka can't tell. Not yet. Kakashi pulls his mask down then, his lips curled into a smile and the very room seems to heave a relieved sigh.

"Iruka," Kakashi says, "I still don't read minds. _You have to tell me._"

And Iruka knows then, he knows for the first time he might not have been the only one caught in the tide. Both of them are fools.

"What do you want, Iruka?" Kakashi asks seriously, his attention focused sorely on him.

"Everything. I want everything."

And he's going to get it, he knows this in the way Kakashi closes the last feet between the two of them, the way his lips close over Iruka's, the kiss gentler than any they've shared before, the way Kakashi's hands encircle his waist possessively.

"Let's go return the key," Kakashi says when they break the kiss, the need for air forcing them to. "We don't need it anymore. We'll continue this at home."

Iruka nods, smiling, looking around the room for one last time. So many things have happened there, but he's not sorry to leave it behind.

When they leave Haven neither of them look back.

…


End file.
